The Coldest Moon
by 0109silver
Summary: Little Red Riding Anna, you don't see, huh? Elsa is struggling, and her whereabouts are puzzling. Now, murders are abound, it's better if you're safe and sound. Please don't fright, your sister won't bite (much). Every month may be a hint . . . now what's this 'imprint? *AU, Elsanna, Icest, Werewolf!Elsa*
1. Chapter 1

**The Coldest Moon**

**Summary: Little Red Riding Anna, you don't see, huh? Elsa is struggling, and her whereabouts are puzzling. Now, murders are abound, it's better if you're safe and sound. Please don't fright, your sister won't bite (much). Every month may be a hint . . . now what's this 'imprint'? *AU, Elsanna, Icest***

**This is an AU and an _Elsanna_ story in which _they are sisters_. So, I gave you a fair warning, therefore if this subject triggers something please don't flame me. But this chapter is very low-key on the incest. Now, speaking of the next . . . *nervous laughter***

**Warnings: Graphic Images, Blood, Gore, Language, and eventual Incestuous Love in later updates.**

** ((((0))))**

** Chapter 1: _Aftereffects _**

No, not now! I need more time!

_Elsa struggled against every instinct within her being. But every said fiber was insubordinate to her orders. Her body, crippled on the forest floor, exploded in untamable flames within her muscles and her bones—formerly civilized and merciful—grind together, breaking and shifting into another place._

I need . . . time!

_Her neck was the first to go. It snapped to the side as it bulged with a newfound placement. That formation was always the most painful. Next were her ribs. She arched her back and pushed her body up on all fours. They scrap against her flesh, moving to their fresh arrangement. White hot pain—torture more like it—coursed through her cells as she screamed, ailed and savage. Elsa cried out again, more from the forsaken side of her than her actual sane self._

_"Elsa?"_

_Her crystal eyes, brimmed with scorching tears, widened and flickered to the source of the sound._

No!

_She tried standing, but the pain was too much. The mossy ground met the side of her face. The girl ground her cheek into the littered floor as another sharp stab protruded from the base of her back. _

_"Elsa?" More frantic, more urgent, more worried. The person in question knew the source._

Must . . . away!

_She grabbed at the grass, clawing at the earth for anything that could avoid the origin of the voice._

Go!

_Elsa tried standing again. Her legs made it three steps before they buckled and she whipped the ground again with her skull. Yet the pain of the impact was moot for the anguish for her body outweighed it._

Away . . . Far . . . Hurt . . .

_Simple words filled her mind. Rudimentary sounds and commands. Feral talk._

_The voice came into the darkness once more, closer. Even still, Elsa could barely place it, her own cries of anguish washing it out. Then, a glint of copper came into the darkness. It bobbed up and down until it was in visage of the sprawled out woman._

_One word entered Elsa's mind before the curse settled in, before the ferine animal overtook the civilized human._

Anna . . .

. . . . .

_Six Lunar Cycles Earlier_

. . . . .

This was not the first time the blonde had woken in a meadow starch naked.

Most people may think she was abandoned by a serial killer, assaulted by someone, or—what the consensus may think because of her age and beauty—partied so hard she striped in a drunken hazy and then passed out. Which, she thought in retrospect, would be better than the actual truth.

Platinum locks sprung up from the grass and whirled around frantically.

_Dear God, not another meadow. _

Flashbacks of the last time she recovered at a field sprinted across her mind as she recollects her nude body, the dried blood smeared across her mouth and chest, and a very . . . _surprised_ male hunter. Nevertheless, that did not make her day—but it sure made the huntsman's. Elsa blinked back the black dots in her eyes as they adjusted to the blinding sun and gradually crawled across the hayfield, in hopes to make it the edge of the forest before another 'lucky' man strolled through this part of the woodland. Scrapping her knees was certainly a fair price to pay if it meant avoiding another awkward conversation with a poor, horny human.

Making it safely, and consequently unseen, the young woman stood by the embankment and tried to locate herself.

_Okay, by the way my shadow is pointing means that west is there and east . . ._

Absentmindedly, she folded her arms across her middle and headed north toward the highway. Being nude certainly is not in the wilderness survival guide, because as soon as she trekked along the naturally littered floor, the infernal twigs and debris stabbed the raw pads of her feet. Tiptoeing, Elsa hiked carefully away from the open space. Her senses were still hyper from last night's adventure by every chirp of a bird and clopping of a deer caused her to flinch and shrink further into herself.

The naked form traveled along her mental map of the familiar forest as the sun continued to rise in the azure sky. A cool breeze fluttered amongst the trees, making the girl shiver in all of the wrong places.

_I can see why some of my kind calls this a curse. If a hunter doesn't kill you, you'll sure as heck die from isolated embarrassment. _

It took another fifteen minutes of painstakingly brittle twigs stabbing her soles and perverted-feeling Fall air before Elsa came across where she shed her clothes. Raking the forest floor, her eyes landed on a black blouse. She practically sprinted to it.

Her eyes caught sight of the torn fabric that was her bra as she started to button up the top. In the midst of the wild night she had (the woman chuckled to herself as 'wild night' seemed too innocent and well . . . _normal_), the blonde didn't have time to rip off her underwear. Once she was semi clothed, she strolled over to the ragged cloth, picked it up, and sighed. Frankly, she goes through more bras and panties than a slut on Valentines. And don't get her started on the amount of shoes she shreds with each escapade.

She disregarded the, now useless and ugly, lingerie and searched for the other half of yesterday's attire. It was a few meters away when the denim of her jeans, peeking above a log, caught her eye and soon covered her stark bottom. Though she groaned as she realized that these were _skinny jeans_, some chaffing would be bearable in contrast to not being decent (once more flashes of the cheeky hunter passed through her mind).

When covered, Elsa stood and tilted her head down. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes and took in her surroundings. A bombardment of noise slammed into her ears as she sorted through the cacophony of the timberland—deer trotting along the meadow she was just in, a couple of huntsmen a mile or so away reminiscing about the girls they banged back in high school, and two squirrels getting it on were just distractions. Finally, through the clamor of life in the forest, she found the inconstant vrooming of cars and trucks along the highway.

She smirked, dried blood cracking and chipping along the contorting skin and muscle, and made her way home.

. . . . .

Elsa slinked back into the estate, silent and hoping that the other resident is still slumbering. She rapidly ran up the stairs, two at a time, and abstractedly navigated to her room. Once in the sanctuary, the woman flopped down onto her plush bed, exhausted.

A sigh of relief escaped her lips and then she, without even standing or sitting up, shimmed her way under the covers. Before her head even slid onto the pillow, she was out.

. . . . .

_I'm insane, I am smart_

Elsa groaned as the song erupted from somewhere across the room.

_All it takes, is a spark, to ignite my bad intentions _

Crystal eyes peeked through the comforter, eyeballing the digital clock that blinked 7:02.

_And do what I do best to your heart_

She wondered who would call her this early in the morning. All of her friends were either too busy or hypersomiacs like her sister. A small smirk etched its way to her usual stoic features as she thought of her childlike sibling, hair in tangles and mouth agape in its own cute way.

_Don't be fooled, I was raised by the wolves_

However, that one miniscule smile vanished as Elsa sprung from underneath her covers as she recognized the selected song for a specific person. She jumped from the bed and slid across the polished wooden floor. Nearly smashing into her dresser, the blonde snatched by her phone and answered.

"Hi, Belle."

"Geez Elsa, I thought you would never pick up," the caller laughed, a slight accent of French origin in her voice.

A nervous laugh, the blonde replied, "I was sleeping off last night."

There was a sigh of discernment on the other end, "I know, Adam is doing the same thing. He's been out for hours."

Forgetting that the other girl cannot see her, Elsa nodded, "Did he tell you anything about the run?"

"Just the usual: changed, sought you out, and hunted. Nothing in particular happened."

"Yeah," the young woman responded. "That's what I remember too."

"Where did you wake up at?" Belle asked inquisitively.

Another anxiety laugh escaped her lips as she said, "Another meadow. Thankfully, no hunters this time."

The French girl chuckled, fully aware of Elsa's previous escapades. "_Pauvre de vous_."

"Oh, shut up." Despite being alone, the pale girl still buried her face into the crook of her elbow on her dresser, embarrassed by her past endeavors. Why did she divulge that to them again?

_Oh yeah, because they are the only people you _can_ tell it too._

"Well . . . I guess I shouldn't tell you about Adam's morning. . ." Belle trailed off teasingly. This perked the blonde's attention.

"Please say it was _unbearable_."

"Oh, no, it wasn't that just . . . very, very _embarrassing_." Mirth laced through the caller's voice, making the other female eager.

"Well, go on."

A breathy laughed buzzed in Elsa's ear as the girl tried to contain her laughter. Finally, when the giggles subsided for now, she said, "He woke up in a pig sty—"

"Oh, God."

"—spooning a resident pig."

She lost it. Elsa covered her mouth with her free hand to stifle the laughs, in hopes to not arouse her sister, who was—by her knowledge—still sleeping. Tears brimmed her eyes as she squeezed them shut and bowed her head. Her stomach and sides hurt by the time she controlled the titters.

All she could stutter out was, "Poor Adam."

Belle, on the other hand, was still in the thick of her own irrepressible laughter. The golden-haired girl concluded that she had been dying to tell her this. She can see why.

"Poor Adam?" The caller ultimately stated, once coherent. "More like poor Wilbur! I feel sorry for the sorry piglet that had to cuddle with his smelly, temperamental ass."

A smile stretched across Elsa's face as she chided, "Now, now . . . don't get mean. Plus, you _are_ the one dating that 'smelly, temperamental ass'."

There was a considered silence, probably Belle thinking it over. Finally, she surrendered, "Okay, okay fair enough. I guess he is _my _stinky, moody ass."

The two girls chatted for some time after that, exchanging light-hearted stories about past experiences and abashments. Elsa felt at allay as they talked. Belle was quiet possibly her best friend, behind a certain burly blonde (which was shared with her sibling, so he wasn't entirely _her_ best friend). This girl _knew_ about Elsa. She knows her deepest, darkest, and most abnormal secret. It was blessing to have someone to talk to, besides Adam, who shares the same fate and continuous struggle as the blonde. It was nice, calming.

Yet, the merriment ended when the applicant for best friend brought up a sensitive subject.

"Speaking of which, have you . . ." she sighed, a disheartening sound to the platinum-blonde. "Elsa, you need to tell Anna." Firm, absolute. No room for argument.

The solace vaporized from her. The pale female didn't reply, deterred by the abrupt change in subject. But, she eventually pronounced, "Belle—"

"I know you don't like talking about it, but the Ascension is drawing near and—"

"I know that!"

A tense pause settled over the conversation. Elsa solemnly lost her cool, even still, it was a raw—still sore and agitated that it still seemed afflicted just yesterday—topic, that the blonde was an expert in compartmentalizing it. She agonizes to the precise day and minute how far away it is.

After a few more taut seconds, she sighs and concedes, "Sorry."

Belle replied immediately, attempting to appease the other woman, "No, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have brought it up." The blonde opened her mouth to react, however the caller continued, "And though I apologize, I am still standing steadfast to my opinion."

Crystal eyes narrowed, confused. "What do you mean?"

"You should tell her, Elsa. And soon. The sooner, the better, right? Well, if you keep postponing this, it will get even more complicated."

The pale girl shook her head. "It's _already_ complicated."

"But it will increase when the day draws closer and the pressure increases too. And you _know_ best how she reacts to pressure _and_ complications."

Elsa suddenly fell mute. Instinctively, she wrapped her free arm around her center and bit her lip. Her eyes scanned the room for something to preoccupy her wandering and worrying mind. Then, they landed on the digital clock. It blinked 7:24.

She quickly evaded the subject. Yes, she was good at circumventing harsh issues. That's what she has done for most of her existence. "I have to go. See you at school, Belle." She paused, then added as an afterthought, "And tell Adam to bathe."

Before the other could say anything else, the blonde ended the call, shuffled to her bed, and plummeted face-first into the cushion. Dread filled her aching and fatigued body at the mere thought of considering Belle's proposal. How was she going to tell Anna the truth? It's not like telling someone that you are a democrat or gay. This is even more rarified than that. The blonde groaned and pivoted her head up to the clock. 7:31.

_Aug, why did it have to be a week day? School is bad enough without having the hangover. _

Gradually, Elsa dragged her throbbing body from her bed and headed for the shower. Or she was, until she caught sight of herself in the mirror. There she stood. Shirt and pants stretched to the strained integrity of the fabric, ashen by the dirt and grime of the forest, and the only thing that stood in the way of pure, unadulterated flesh. Her platinum hair was free from its usual bun, wild like a lion's mane (or her sister when she wakes) and had sticks and leaves tangled within the tresses. Yet, probably the most deplorable thing was the dried deer blood soiling her lips, chin, and neck. The thick substance was nearly brown for it was now hours old and had bits of raw meat sticking to her skin. The smell, _oh_ _the_ _scent_, was irony and musky.

Elsa glowered at her reflection, frowning at the stranger's feral appearance. Her cerulean blue eyes still had the remnants of a predate glow and it filled her with disgust. Belle's advice barged its way into her mind as she gave her countenance one last look as she stomped to the bathroom. And internally scoffed at the unneeded monition.

_How the heck are you supposed to tell your sister that you're werewolf? _

**((((0))))**

**So how did you like it? Good? Bad? Horrid? Interesting?**

**By the way Belle's translation: '_Pauvre de vous' _means 'poor you' in French. Even still, I used Google Translate so if any of you are French or have learned the language please correct me if the translation is wrong or needs tweaking.**

**Oh, and that song as Belle's/Adam's ringtone is _Raised by Wolves_ by _Falling in Reverse_. Great song and fitting, don't you think?**

**Thanks for reading and please review. **


	2. Chapter 2

**The Coldest Moon **

**((((0))))**

**Chapter Two: ****_The 'Norm'_**

The community of Arendelle was generic and simple, and reinforced the phrase 'small town'. Its inhabitants were just as ordinary as the place itself. Everyone was tightly knitted like a woven tapestry, interacting, conversing, telling every other person 'how are you' and 'good day'. You could walk into the grocery store and hear multiple greetings from the same person, staggered and irregular. They were a warm people, kind to outsiders and their own.

It was a small, tourist attraction and retirement place, for its woodlands and breathtaking, rolling mountains astonished travelers. The town was nestled into the vast, green forest, enshrouded by nature and its own contentment. It was well-known to many celebrities, politicians, and philanthropists, making it a hot spot for excursionists. Many of the original families became wealthy and famous for the founders prospered from the booming industrial and trade era in the mid-eighteenth century, thus, many of the households were well-off and dignified in the city limits. It was the picture-perfect, happy, complacent community.

But nothing is without its faults.

Beneath it all was the social and economic politics that are always imminent in society. Gossip, backstabbing, ill-closed rivalries, and grudges all flowed through the tiny town. The older women would _tsk_ if you did not regularly attend church or join in on the new scandalous act with pure abandon. And if you were anything less than 'masculine' in their opinion, the men would feel inclined to catch you up on the latest football game or would pressure you into tagging along to the weekend venture to the local pub. Abnormities were a rarity. This was just the way of life.

Therefore, obviously, Elsa had to stick out like a sore thumb.

The whispers, the tentative comments of adults and peers alike, would say she was the town's signature recluse, antisocial and selectively interactive. Besides, every community needed to have fallback gossip when a sudden drought came upon gatherings and parties. Most girls would chide her fashion choices (which were pricey and designer) and comment on how her face needed some foundation and eye shadow (a better way to enhance her lovely cheekbones and piercing crystal irises). Then, the other half of her classmates, the ones with a Y chromosome, would heave a disgruntled sigh and state how much of a waste she was and what they would do to her if she wasn't _so weird_.

With weird being a 'regular Ice Queen' and hanging out with the other short sticks in the town. There was that strange, burly boy with the mop blond hair who talks to his dog like it is a human. That uncanny, enraptured couple who are self-proclaimed soul mates (however the only reason the inhabitants cannot stand them is because they honestly believe that they are such a thing—how could a couple be so adorable?). Also, that Chinese girl who hits harder than Muhammad Ali and spends her time practicing sword technics, stances, and new kinds of strikes. And lastly, that alabaster toned boy with the silver hair and freezing cold skin.

Nevertheless, probably the only thing that balances out Elsa's quirks and questionable friends was her sister.

She was absolutely a darling. Oh, how the inhabitants adored her! Disregarding that she was related to the Ice Queen, the people accepted her and relished in the fact that the family that the town was named after produced someone half-way normal. Anna was bubbly, sweet, respectful, cutely awkward in situations, and had the most amazing way to bring people out of their shell. The redhead was the heart and soul of the townsfolk.

So, it was not a surprise to say that when they heard that the giggly, kind Anna was dating the equally prized and respected Hans Westerguard they were practically ecstatic when the news found its way around the urban area. To them, the couple was destined to be together. He complimented her unconventional, lively ways. And she did the same with his mannerisms and properness. That was just the way it was supposed to be. It was _typical_ to have the epitome love within the town.

And they be damned if anything would disturb that norm.

. . . . .

Despite brushing her teeth multiple times, Elsa could still taste deer. She ran her tongue along the grooves of her canines as she sat in the back of her family's old, compact limousine.

"And then he took my hand and guided me to the table . . ." a languorous sigh sounded to the blonde's right. Her younger sister, sprawled out along the opposite seat, narrated her experience with her longtime crush, Hans, who finally embarked on a date last night. The dreamy expression on the copper-haired teen's face told the other that it was just as she imagined it would be.

A little, tight-lipped grin played across the elder's face as she endured the tale. Anna has gushed over the boy ever since freshmen year ("He has the dreamiest eyes . . . oh and he has 12 brothers—can you believe that? . . . God, he has the nicest butt and it looks so firm and I just want to—Ow! What was that for?"), therefore Elsa can see why her sibling is so taken with the night. Even still, she could not help but be somewhat apprehensive about the popular jock.

She could not pin down why, it's just there. From what the blonde could see, he was chivalrous, kind, respectful, not to mention handsome (or gorgeous as Anna puts it), and seems to have a good head on his shoulders. And during the few, curt times she has conversed with him he was nothing but reverent and had manners that rivaled a prince's. So, Elsa just diluted the point to the overly protectiveness in her nature.

_Yet_, she thought as she hears another satisfied sigh, _it still doesn't explain why I _hate_ him so much._

"And God . . . he was so considerate and he listened to me! Can't you believe it! Most guys would be so self-centered, but he wasn't! He never once made me feel dumb for babbling like an idiot or interrupted me . . . and, oh, he also finished my sandwich when I couldn't—"

"That sounds nice," was all the blonde could say. The ginger didn't seem to notice the sour side of the comment.

"Oh, Elsa!" The sprightly teen suddenly said, jarring the other out of her reprehensible thoughts. "Who called so early this morning?"

For a moment, the older woman panicked. She wondered if her sister eavesdropped on her conversation and overheard the certain terms thrown around. But once she realized the genuine curiosity in Anna's teal eyes, she relaxed. Obviously, her younger sibling only heard the ring.

Elsa replied, "That was . . . that was Belle calling about some notes she missed. We have an essay and she wanted to see if she got all the information down right."

A mental congrats was rewarded to the blonde for her quick fib, though it soon diminished once she realized that she _lied_ to sister. Somehow, she felt even worse than hearing how great Mr. Sideburns was last night.

Withal, Anna seemed to accept the flimsy excuse and went back gushing about her date, much to Elsa's displeasure.

. . . . .

As Kai, loyal butler and former guardian, dropped the youngest of the siblings off, Elsa waved goodbye, and once the teen was out of sight, sighed in exhaustion. Despite keeping a calm and hopefully attentive face, the blonde resisted every urge to scowl at her sister's love-sick tales. She did not know why, but this Hans character just rubbed her the wrong way.

"Is everything alright Ms. Arendelle?"

Worry settled into Kai's wise eyes as he saw the eldest exhaustedly slump in the leather seat. Something ultimately unbecoming of her.

The blonde flicked weary eyes up to him and gave a frail smile. "Everything's fine . . . just had a late night."

The erstwhile man nodded, not pushing the issue. Her secret was safe with him.

. . . . .

Arendelle University was just as well-known as the small town that shared its name. It was a prestigious and esteemed school rivaling fellow Ivy-League colleges and the accession was just as exclusive. And though Elsa had the money to get into such a place, it was actually her grades that caught the admissions board's attention. Top if her class, the blonde had one of the highest GPAs that the high school has ever seen. Even when she was younger, her parents contemplated moving her up a grade or place her in an alternative institution, but the then eleven year old vehemently refused, stating that if she did that then she and Anna would not interact during high school ("What if she gets lost, or some meanie comes over and hurts her? No way."). And respecting their daughter's wishes, her mother and father allowed her to continue a normal education. Yet in reality, Elsa's refusal was for her own benefit, too. High school was something she just went through the motions of, inundate of necessary tasks and grades. But with Anna, she persevered, rightfully enjoying her last year there with her sister. Thus, like the repeating waves rolling along Arendelle's many lakes, college life was similar to what high school was before the redhead joined her.

The university experience was something that Elsa tolerated. That included her . . . _interesting_ friends.

"Wait, so Jack was kicked out of his first class?"

An exasperated breath and then a chuckle, "Well, no. He actually just sprinted out and couldn't go back."

The blonde furrowed her brow. "How come?"

Mulan smirked, bringing the cup of tea to her lips, "Bad burrito."

Mirth crinkled in the pale woman's eyes before she asked, "How's he doing now?"

Elsa sat, playing with her deli sandwich, currently in intermission between her classes. An athletic Asian featured girl her age sat across, sipping on a type of Oolong tea, which from the fragrance of it, Elsa deduced that it was jasmine. A judging from the way a slight musk surrounded her; just faint enough for Elsa to pick up on, Mulan recently exercised. A super sniffer was something that came along with the curse.

"Honestly? I think he still has the runs."

The blonde gave a sly smirk and bit into her sandwich, in hopes to dissipate the deer taste still lingering on her tongue. The turkey helped mitigate it, somewhat.

"Serves him right," the platinum-blonde admitted after chewing.

Her friend quirked an ebony eyebrow, "Are you really still going on about that?"

The woman in question answered, "Obviously. Would you still be?"

Mulan hummed for a moment, thinking it over. "Well . . ." She scrunched up her nose as the memory of Jack's little persuasion passed through her mind. "Yeah, he deserves it."

Last month, Jack somehow got into the Arendelle manor and stole all of the blonde's text books, pencils, pens, paper, and other essentials. He said it was a way to nudge Elsa in the right direction of college life—aka the party side. But little did he know that the reclusive girl had a very important project. It took three hours to seek out the dastardly prankster, another hour to convince him that she was _not_ fooling around, and an all-nighter (which Jack was tied up in a chair by rope and Elsa's death glare as punishment, forced to stay awake with the pale woman as she finished it). In the end, two completely debilitated, pale(r) blondes agreed that no such pranks—or persuasions as he put it—were to happen again.

Elsa's hand still cramped at recollections.

The conversation was about to start up again, but a certain couple came over, practically glued together. "Hey, Mulan. Hey, Elsa."

The duo swerved their heads up at the voice. A tall, muscular male with long auburn hair stared down at them, smiling, with an equally cheeky brunette girl, who was tucked under his arm. Immediately, the two women smiled and greeted them.

"Wow, you look like crap, Adam." That was Mulan, perspective as ever. Elsa just went with a meek 'how are you?'.

The blonde scanned Adam's face and felt his pain. Bags hung under his blue eyes, enhanced by the tired look in his irises, and his usual uppity clothing was disheveled. She also was like that, shadows encircling her eyes and skin ashen, however, Mulan was use to that. She was an Architect major after all.

"Wow," he drawled out, in faux hurt. "So, subtle."

The girl put up her hands. "Hey, I say it like it is."

The brunette, Belle, giggled and cuddled closer to her boyfriend. "He was up all night studying for his exam."

_Nice lie._

Elsa's face slowly allowed a mischievous smirk to play across her lips as she placed her arm on the table and put her chin onto her knuckles. "You also smell. Didn't you shower this morning?"

Adam's eye flashed with confusion as his girl bit her lip. Then, dark blue grew as acknowledgment slid along his handsome face. He flicked his gaze down to Belle briefly, who could not for the life of her keep a straight face. Elsa was surprised that the pressure of her bite did not break the skin of her lip.

The ginger male flustered, "W-w-well, yeah, of course why wouldn't I?"

"No reason."

Mulan was lost though. "What are you guys talking about?"

"Nothing." All three said in unison.

_Wow, not suspicious at all._

"Okay . . .?" The fourth wheel stated, awkwardly. She then looked to her phone and sprung up from the table. "Sorry guys but I got to go." She gathered her stuff, placed a couple of bills down, and began to part.

Only, about two steps in she turned and asked, "You know, Elsa, the class misses you. Are you sure you want to drop it?"

The blonde gave an apologetic smile. "Sorry, but being an Architect major takes a toll on me without being thrown around by you for two hours."

About three years ago, the pale woman joined a martial arts class on the campus, determined to learn self-defense besides relying on _other_ abilities. That is actually how she met Mulan, who was instructing the class. She moved up quickly through the belts and often sparred against the Asian. And just as often landed on her ass because of said girl. However, she once stated that Elsa was the only person in there who could keep up with her, which the blonde took the compliment with a grain of sand because she always lost to the woman. Even still, like Elsa said, her classes were a burden on her (among _other_ things) and she reluctantly dropped the extracurricular. Much to the other's disappointment.

Mulan nodded in comprehension, and finally conceded, "Just needed to make sure." She turned to the rest of the group. "See ya guys." And she jogged off.

Seeing the opportunity, the happy couple replaced her and sat down at the table, meanwhile Elsa pivoted her head around to see if any people were within earshot. So far, the coast was clear and she averted her gaze back at the duet.

The blonde, however, was not the first one to speak.

"Okay, spill . . . when did Belle tell you?" Adam huffed and crossed his arms.

A sly grin played across his girlfriend's lips as the other woman shifted her visage into one of indifference and boredom. A coy remark, in contrary to her demure face, slipped from her mouth, "Oh, which 'when' are we talking about? The pig sty one, the harem, or the bear feces?"

The auburn haired man's eyes narrowed and flicked over to his girl, then he pouted, "I thought you swore not to tell!"

"Yes," Belle agreed, snatching up one of the blonde's chips, then inspected it carefully. "But, after I told her pretty much everything." Then without further adieux, passively plopped the chip into mouth.

The man flustered, disbelief written on his features, "I thought you were my girlfriend."

"_Au contraire_," she said and made sure to draw it out to taunt him. "You forget that, even though I am your _girlfriend_, I am still a _girl_ first and foremost."

"Oh, so it's just an unspoken code that women will pretty much tell anything and everything about their boyfriends?" The two girls glanced at each other before nodding. Adam flung his arms up in a failed attempt to be dramatic. "Where's the trust in the world?"

"Jeez, calm down, _ma bête_," the brunette cooed, using her partner's pet name. She slowly snuggled into his side, affectively placating him. Almost immediately his arms came down and wrapped protectively around the girl next to him.

_If only they had a reality show._

"So," Elsa interrupted. "Anything peculiar happen last night, Adam, before you joined up with me?"

The man lifted his chin up slightly and recollected the previous small hours. "No, nothing. Just the usual—driving to the landing and shifting."

The blonde woman nodded and took another small, diligent bite of her sandwich.

_You're just being paranoid . . . _

As if picking up on woman's struggle, Belle sounds her concern, "You know, you don't have to go through the whole Ascension dilemma alone, we're here for you."

Despite the looming dread in her eyes, her marginally slumped shoulders, not to mention the seeded worry in her brow, Elsa with as much dignity as she could muster weakly smiled.

_Plus_, she thought after the topic was washed away by the recent college gossip and laughs, _it's not like it's _that_ near. I have six months, one week, and three days to prepare. Who's worrying? Nobody, that's who._

**((((0))))**

**What's this 'Ascension' term that seems to pop up now and again? Oh, you'll see soon enough. . . **

**Well, this chapter didn't turn out quite like I suspected, plot-wise. I was going to explain more, yet the idea of leaving you guys at the edge of your seat came into my mind. So, being the sadistic person I am, I couldn't bring myself to care about your sanity or well-being. *evil laugh***

**_Au contraire_****— 'One the contrary'**

**_Ma bête— 'My beast'_**

**Until next time.**

**PLEASE REVIEW (or just give me your opinion or critics, it would be appreciated).**


	3. Chapter 3

**The Coldest Moon**

**Thanks to all who are following me and have reviewed. It really motivated me to finish this chapter despite the late update (writer's block).**

**Note that the last half of this chapter is from my mobile phone so if it seems a bit choppy there is a reason. Once school starts back up again and when I get my computer I will try to revise it to the best of my abilities.**

**Thanks once more and enjoy the next chapter.**

**If you see any spelling or grammar mistakes, please tell me. I will fix them.**

**((((0))))**

**Chapter Three: Comedy, Tragedy**

An Excerpt from the Articles of Ascension (1274 AD):

_We the People of the Underworld, the tykes and aristocrats and the sovereign placed upon us in this enlightened time, hereby commend these Articles to maintain tranquility, defense of threats domestic and foreign, from our world or from the Oblivions, security, and establish posterity. These laws placed upon this parchment will forever lay the foundation of the successors to the mercy seat, the divine right of the Mirror, and the might of such. Yet, though progenies are fated, we, the council of the Underworld, representatives of the commoners, and nobles of unspoken lands lay down conditions of the terms of the Ascension, whenever the era, circumstances, beings may be. This is to ensure a rightful, efficient, and arrant rule when the Mirror bestows its wisdom and writ to whomever._

_Stipulate One: All applicants must be of noble blood from the first Underworlders, this is to ascertain the cognitive and physical promise of the new Ascend._

_Stipulate Two: If such an applicant is of Vampiric origin, this individual must be of the age of four centuries or more, thus, must be a high position in the hierarchy of one's Nest._

_Stipulate Three: If such are a person of Witch or Warlock descent then thou must have mastered all eight elements with notary and exemplar._

_Stipulate Four: When an applicant, if of Lycan heritage, persons must have the minimum shifts of one hundred and twenty-six lunar cycles, and must, without resent, be of pure blooded stemma._

_Stipulate Five: Persons of Elfish decent must be of the age of fifty-eight Julian calendar years, or in seventy-three elfish years, albeit must be of pure blooded, not of mixed lineage integrating the two races._

_Stipulate Six: If a demon, whether artificially or heritage, must be of the age of one hundred and fifty years, and must not of been with malevolent intent in the past fifty-five of those assemblages._

_Stipulate Seven: If one is of Succubus relatives . . ._

. . . . .

When you get a text message from one of your friends stating 'I hope you have a good sense of humor', there is a certain type of undulate panic you feel. It is not one of fear—well maybe fears of the unknown—nor is it the maddening suspense that comes with it. Moreover, the dread is more associated with the expression of acceptance, the undeniable realization that whatever has transpired as already occurred. So, you just have to wait it out in complete espousal. And currently, Elsa was experiencing such a sense of panic.

She just finished her day of college and had _just_ submerged in the fluffy goodness of the plush comforter when she received the message. Groaning, long, lithe fingers skimmed over the bedside table, found the device, rapidly snatched it up and pulled it back into the blonde's lavish confinement. Her rest will have to wait, however.

Now, she paced the length of her room. The cohesive rhythm of footfalls echoes as she desperately awaited the reply to her 'Jack, what did you do now?', but no response came. Soon, actual panic started to set in. Images of him, mangled, beaten, or worse, alive and well having a shit-eating grin on his albescent face, came into her mind while she continued to canter the room. Elsa turned on her heel again, ready to trek the place once more—

Her feet settled against the wooden floor, face of confusion and irritation, and hands clenched at her sides. A golden eyebrow rose to her hairline as the familiar glint of white crept up the windowpane. Frozen fractals, gentle rime, and pointed spirals etched its way into the glass and frothed down the pale blue wall. In any other situation, Elsa may have stood and appreciated the way the ice dug into the glass, imbedding elegant shapes and wisps. The way the frost manifested itself into something utterly divine and well . . . beautiful.

And just like that, the blonde sprinted to the pane and dug her fingers into the freezing atmosphere and ripped open the window. Beauty be damned.

Elsa protruding her head out the opening and stilled.

"Hey . . . Elsa . . . um . . . how're you doing?" The sheepish look on the male's face was lost on the woman as she stared down with a mix of anger and concern.

The pale female's window was on the third floor of the manor, high above the ground by dozens of feet. An old trellis, paint chipping and the wood dissevering by the weather, was plastered along the entire way up, ending at her level. Her parents planted an enchanted rose bed at the bottom, and so, as the child grew so did the vines. They twisted in and out of the fretwork, green and scarlet mixing with moldy ivory. The vegetation, though seemingly innocuous and sedentary, was in fact quite the opposite. It was vicious to any persons who ventured too near to the estate, besides the family and its few servants. In all honesty, it was literally a living thing with a clandestine agenda: to protect the girl who resides on the third floor above.

And of course, Jack did not know this.

He was dangling above in the air, and the only thing that separated him from an imminent drop was the atmosphere and the vines curling around his ankles. Upside down and red faced, he bent his head toward Elsa in a futile assay to appease the girl, which only seemed to irritate her more. Just beyond him (or below him when upright), was his phone nestled in the green grass, broken and out of reach by tens of feet. Obviously he dropped it.

_Well, that explains the absence of responses._

"So, um, how are you?" He attempted, he really did, yet the woman's tolerance for him just was not there today.

"What in the Gods' names are you doing?!" She could practically feel her eyebrow twitch as she yelled.

Another sheepish grin played along his lips as he joked, "Oh, you know, just, _hanging out_."

Elsa narrowed her eyes and pressed her lips together. "I will say again: what were you foolishly trying to do?"

He had the audacity to actually look up (or down) and flakily think it over. He finally said, "Well, I got a call from Belle, saying that you needed some comfort, 'cause you know, the whole Ascension thingy. So, being a fellow candidate and friend, I decided to drop by—Ow ow ow and ow!"

Looking down, the young woman saw how the vines contracted around his ankles and pulled him further in the shrubbery in its own way of justice for trespassing. She contemplated two scenarios: to allow the plant to eat the current annoyance or set said person free so he could further torment her on another date.

_Oh, the choices . . ._

"Hey, Snowflake," Jack interrupted her amusing thoughts. He began to wiggle against the vines but to no avail. More tethers sneaked around the male's legs as it dragged him upwards to Elsa. "I can't feel my toes."

A small chuckle escaped the woman's closed lips. Making her decision, she tilted her torso forward, stretched out a lithe finger, and stroked the nearest rose bud. "It's okay, he's a friend."

As if on cue, the ropes along Jack's body retracted, only leaving the ones around his ankles. Slowly, the plant pulled him upward to the windowsill and, when he was in grabbing distance, Elsa wrapped a hand around her friend's calf and continued what the rose bed started. Once, most of his body was inside the room, the vegetation released its hold on his feet and retreated back to its solitary position. Jack flopped on the floor, gasping for breath and rubbing his aching joints.

"What," pant. "The hell," another pant. "Was that?"

The pale woman crossed her arms, vexation written on her face, and cocked one of her hips out. A clear indication that he, once again, crossed the line. An irritated tone took to her voice as she said, "An enchanted rose bush that kills anyone who _trespasses_ or comes onto the property _uninvited_."

Standing, Jack bent down and brushed off his ashen jeans. "So, why the fuck did it attack me? Aren't I always accepted here?"

Elsa placed her face into her palm. And she thought she would get some sleep. "'Always' is a strained term in this context."

He pouted and straightened. Jack swirled his head to the pane, frowning. His blanch lazuline eyes widened, "Oh darn, sorry about the glass and the wood."

At first, confusion etched itself on her features, yet they soon morphed into acknowledgment. Her own crystal blue eyes shifted from the boy to the sill and soon her anger dissipated. "It's okay, no real damage done," she averred, despondently.

_He had good intentions. Go easy on him._

Jack ran a hand through is silver hair, "When the plant was eating me, I kind of panicked and started throwing snowballs and tried to freeze it." He laughed nervously.

Like most of the people in the woman's life, they are of . . . paranormal origin. Jack Frost, the scraggy young man barely looking eighteen, in light denim jeans and a dark blue hoodie, with impeccable silvery-white hair—minus a few rose pedals and twigs—and lightest of light blue eyes happens to be one of the most powerful demons in the world. Over five hundred years old, his specialty is anything that has to do with winter—snow, frost, even the stupid black ice that Anna constantly slips on in the drive way. She met him through her parents at the age of eight, who by her knowledge was a 'good family friend'. Little did she know back then was that he oversaw generations of the Arendelle clan, including her father and his father before him. Though immature, and on the thin line of dauntlessness-stupidity, he was probably the closest thing she had to a childhood friend. And it bothered her that it did _not_ bother that she was basically befriending an immortal teen. But she guessed that was just friendship, disregarding the tribulations they put you through and how much they make you want to ring their necks because of such things.

"Yeah," Elsa began, almost amused. "The thing is kind of designed to handle pretty much anything."

Glancing back at the etching in the glass and the age-old timber, she waved her hand in the air, dismissing it, as she added, "Despite nearly breaking and entering for the sake of my sanity, why did you come here again?"

Jack plopped down on her bed, making Elsa grimace at how the leaves and dirt fluttered on her comforter, and leaned down on the mattress, efficiently making himself at home. "Can a guy say 'hi' to his friend without being accused of a felony?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because this is you we're talking about."

He pursed his lips, defeated by her logic. Sighing, the woman trekked across the room and sat in her large computer chair, back ram-rod straight and ankles virtuously crossed.

_Sleep, I need my sleep . . ._

"How was the shift last night?" The male asked, twirling his hand in the air. Floating rime swirled and flowing seamlessly, making intricate shapes that even the woman's endowed hand could not possibly produce. She shrugged, tearing her eyes away from the flawless contours, and displaced her gaze to the ceiling.

"The usual."

Jack hummed in comprehension. He never pushed too hard on the subject and Elsa was grateful.

"And the happy couple? How did their night go?" The boy inquired and shifted his head to the side to get a better view of his friend. He grinned when a small one came on to her face.

"Same. Smiles, cuddles, and wild sex nearly every night."

"Okay," he ordered, features contorting in one of disgust. "Too much info."

The young woman just chuckled and her hand came up to mask her lips. "Hey, you asked."

"But you didn't have to include those details." He paused, and then, "_Gah_! Now I'm picturing Adam naked! Thanks a lot."

Elsa only laughed more. "Well, at least they have a sex life."

Jack sprung of from his lounging position and purled to his friend, offended. "That's the pot calling the kettle black!"

She quickly retorted, "At least I'm not still a virgin that's over five hundred years old." To add salt to the prolix wound, the blonde crossed her arms over and smirked, devilishly.

Faux pain traversed his boyish visage as he jabbed, "Prude."

"Emasculate."

"Dame."

"Oh, bringing some archaic terms in, are we? Well then . . . churl."

"Um," was the answer with Jack tapping on his chin, ". . . skirt?"

The young woman smirked, "I believe I won this verbal joust."

"Hold on, Snowflake!" Jack held up his hands in a stop motion. "Just let me think . . ."  
After a couple of heated seconds and chin rubbing he conceded, "Fine, you win."

Elsa chuckled under her breath and a slim triumphant grin spread along her lips, knowing all too well this was the umpteenth victory against the immortal.

Closing his eyes, the blond male flopped back down on the mattress and started, "But in all seriousness—"

"'Seriousness'? Since when are you serious?"

"As I was saying," Jack began again before he eyed her from across the room. In retaliation, she scoffed and waved her hand for him to continue. "How is the couple doing? Relationship wise."

Lips twitched upwards more as the woman look to her side, recalling the conversation she had with her fellow werewolf, and then the smirk morphed into a Cheshire grin. The white haired teen looked on in amusement. The only moments the other has seen Elsa smile like that was either her sister's antics or when the sketch she has been working on has turned out to utter perfection. And since this was neither of the aforementioned situations, Jack's interest piqued immensely.

If possible, the smile grew as she uttered, "They're doing . . ." her gaze shifted to the immortal on her bed, a meaningful gander in her eyes. "Well. To say the least, anyways."

"Really, that's all you're going to tell me?"

She shrugged. "That's all I can divulge right now."

"What do you mean?" The other asked, eyes narrowing. "What's going on?"

Lips stretch further along pale cheeks. "You promise you won't tell?"

He gave her a look showing his incredulous thoughts, then he replied, "I have been around for six hundred and fifty three years and haven't spilled the beans to humans about our existence. I think I can handle wolf-boy's and imprintee's relationship watersheds."

Elsa raised an eyebrow, mischief mingling with sincerity in her irises. "Promise?"

"Promise."

She stared for a moment, debating whether or not to tell her childhood friend, yet soon the notion of actually disclosing the news to him took preference. Grinning, Elsa announced, "He's taking it to the next level."

Jack's brow screwed inward as a confused feature crossed his face. "What're you-"

Then his pale irises grew into saucers once it hit him. A genuine smile came into his face and he uttered, "Are you saying that he's going to . . ." If possible the grin grew. "Propose?!"

The blonde woman shrugged however the expression of excitement and joy gave her way. "You didn't hear it from me, okay?"

In one swift and agile movement, the teenage demon sprung up from the other's bed and whirled around in the air, feet never coming in contact with the ground. He levitated for a moment and then, realizing what he was doing, Jack fluttered to the floor. Teeth bared and eyes crinkling. "It's about damn time!"

Mirroring the boy's enthusiasm, Elsa's face hurt from the continuous grinning. This is perhaps the most she has displayed, expression wise, in a very undetermined amount of time. Usually, she was easy with a smile grin if the context permits it. Even still, she was naturally stoic and regal-faced, with years of rigorous, adroit mannerisms and teachings. Her parents made sure that when the time came, when diplomats from a neighboring pack trekked through this sleepy little town or (if possible) the Ascension came ambling into the region donned by an ancient schedule, the Elsa would be poised, erect, and ready to take on the the onslaught of duties.

Nevertheless, this particular situation concedes to an exception.

Belle and Adam have been dating since their freshmen year of college. However, that did not mean that they hit it off either. In fact, before Adam imprinted on the fair girl, the animosity between the two was virtually palpable. It started with something about a misinterpreted lesson, then a debate ensued, and it progressed from there. And, naturally, female werewolf was caught in the middle. Belle happened to be a good classmate and Adam . . . well, it was understandable where her loyalties lie. From then on the rivalry, no matter how diluted and absurd, was something that soon became part of Elsa's academic life ("Look at the way she walks. Who does she think she is, the queen of something?" And "That walking advertisement for jackassdome is coming over. How do you associate with him again?"). Though amusing, the contention put the woman in constant turmoil friendship wise.

Withal, everything changed when Adam imprinted on Belle.

Imprinting was something all werewolves, mixed breed or pure, went through. It was something along the lines of a writ of passage in the pack. A werewolf, male or female, will have a sort of epiphany when they meet or encounter their fated 'soulmate'. Yet 'encountered' is a loose term to use. Some shifters had known the person that they eventually imprinted on, sometimes weeks or months, but some (like her parents) only affiliated with their soulmate for only brief milliseconds. A simple connection of the eyes or a brush of the hand. Something . . . that set off the the bond, despite the species of the couple. Belle was a full fledge human and Adam was just as surprised to find out that his soulmate was in fact not of paranormal origin. It was rare, but it was still present in the shifter society.

Adam, being part of the former group, had known his partner for only three months before the incident happened. Elsa remembered the day well. The color draining from his face, the wide set of his eyes, even the anguished flicker in his pupils. He once said that his experience was like a wave of nostalgia, abrupt and torturous. 'It felt like an elephant was sitting in my chest when I saw her crossing the campus,' the auburn haired man stated after the blonde practically dragged him into the bathroom to snap him out of his gaze.

Every experience was different, Elsa learned years ago. One werewolf may say they felt numb all over (like her father's and mother's) or it maybe be more poignant, as if someone was stabbing them in the heart over and over.

Nevertheless, once the initial revelation happened, everyone says no matter what experience they had, it was worth it.

The woman's mother once described the feeling of endorphia afterwards, that all the things leading up to that moment was just child's play. Like the reason for breathing was finally recognized. And that terrified the hell out of Elsa.

Some werewolves stroll though their entire lives without imprinting, living only by instincts and pointless errands. Soulless eyes, degenerate bodies. Nothing was more important than finding the one and recognizing that there is no chance was just . . . disconsolate and ratifying a miserable existence. That was even rarer than acknowledging another species as a paramour.

And though the odds of Elsa being one of those languished souls are in her positive favor, she knew her luck. Out of the entire populous of Arendelle, she happened to be the Boo Radley of the town, be the most influential and coveted bachelorette, and happen to be a werewolf. Sometimes, in her lowest point of dismal, she would lie awake at night contemplating the implied concept of how imprinting settles your destiny. Even though it happens to be the gateway to eternal happiness, or so fellow wolves say, it also elicits everlasting condemned failure.

This is probably the one thing Elsa feared most in this god forsaken world. Besides the imminent onslaught of paranormal politics placed upon her at such a young age and the revenant curse that plagues her until the end of her days, the suspense of the mystery surrounding her unfound love was what makes her wake in a cold sweat.

Should she have a reason to breathe?

**((((0))))**

**Again another cliff hanger, and Jack! Yep, he's in here and a demon (a winter one at that). This chapter went well, I believe. Shorter but still simple and to the point. You found out about imprinting, a few clues about the Ascension, and Belle's and Adam's developing relationship. The next chapter will officially start off the plot in the story so be looking forward to that.**

**Unfortunately I won't be able to update during the week due to lack of computer, yet hopefully by the middle of next week there will be one.**

**Thanks for reading and PLEASE REVIEW!**


	4. Chapter 4

**The Coldest Moon**

**Thank you to all that reviewed, favorite, and followed. I never thought that this story would get any reviews at all, but apparently I was wrong. :)**

**Now, let's see what torment I will place upon these fine characters. . .**

**If you see any grammar or spelling mistake, please tell me, I will fix them.**

**((((0))))**

**Chapter 4: Shot Through The Heart**

Dinner was something Elsa enjoyed with her little sister. They would talk on and on about insensible topics such as school, friends, the juicy new gossip among their peers, and even off-the-wall comments ("I just don't get it, I mean I know Kristoff is a tough guy, but seriously? He ran out of the class like a bat out of hell. He even screamed 'bad burrito' while sprinting away."). It became tradition. Anna would sit next to Elsa, who sat at the head of the long mahogany table as rightful matriarch, and the endless flow of conversation would propel the girls ahead hours. Time seemed to fly by as they talked and giggled all the while eating Gerda's scrumptious cooking. The siblings loved the meal time with all abandon.

Therefore, it was a surprise to learn that the youngest would have to cut the junction short to conform to her new boyfriend's date.

Elsa sat, graciously nibbling on the pork roast the erstwhile maid conjured up, and listened to her sister babble on about this 'epitome of gentlemen and idol of cute asses'.

"Wonder what we're going to do tonight? Maybe he'll take me to the St. Patrick's day festival or . . . Oh! Maybe even to that fancy restaurant down on main—"

"Didn't he already take you on a date this week?" The blonde interrupted, despondently. Throughout the meal she has grumbled and mumbled to the other's frantic hypotheses about that night's date. Truth be told, Elsa was not thrilled to hear that Mr. Sideburns will be imposing on the family custom.

"Well, yeah we did," Anna replied as she suppressed giggles of excitement. The ginger was dolled up, pink blouse pressed impeccably and black skirt long enough to be considered formal yet short enough to reveal toned freckled legs. Her face, naturally beautiful and need of no enhancement in the eldest's opinion, adored a few swipes of blush and foundation, and her eyes were enhanced by liquid mascara, making her shiny teal irises pop.

Perhaps that is why the older girl was so angry at the arrangement. Her sister seldomly bore makeup and the fact that this boy was haling his way to change her already gorgeous visage was maddening to Elsa.

_Who does this guy think he is?!_

Withal, the young woman held a proper face, one of attention and indifference.

Anna continued, oblivious to her older sister's thoughts, "But we had such a good time, that he couldn't wait to go out on another." With that, she sighed, dreamily. A scowl threatened to appear on the eldest's lips as she heard the breath.

She could feel it, bubbling under her skin. Elsa did not know what, yet something was raking under it, dragging down the length of her body and then U-turning back up to her veiled lour. It manifested in her chest, then occasionally it would diverge to her fingertips almost as if she was itching for . . . Something. Was it anger? Sadness? Or was it entirely different? The blonde did not know, even still, one aspect was for certain—its meridian was toward the lofty disturbance known as Hans.

Another itch, another wishful sigh from her sister. Elsa prodded, "Why you seem . . . zealous."

It took all her will power not to say what she really wanted to utter, unless the blonde desired an angry ginger on her hands. Though, she wondered, as Anna started up again on how her boyfriend was amazing, why did she care of she hurt the girl's feelings? Even before Mr. Sideburns came into the picture, the oldest of the duo was always the brutally honest one. Sometimes, to the point when it seemed so out of line or rude ("That dress makes you look like a giant marshmallow." Or "Yes, an ass can be a hat, if one so desires to wear it as such.").

_But this is _Anna_._

With that, Elsa held her tongue, so long as she wants to keep it.

"Well, yeah, obviously. This is Hans we're talking about. The boy I've been crushing _hard_ on since freshman year." A toothy grin slit her face, she continued, "But . . . Man, I didn't know that those dreams would come true."

The bubbling increased. It heated up her body, scorching her insides. The vice grip in her wine glass tightened.

_Conceal, don't feel. Don't let her know you've planned his death several times._

Both heads whirled to the clamant sound of the grand doorbell. Large gongs and Anna's squeal of excitement seemed to drown out the sigh of resignation from the blonde.

_Speak of the auburn-haired devil._

Elsa never really divulges in alcohol too often, maybe one or two glasses after a rigorous day at the campus (or usually the hangover day after a shift), and even so, those days were far few and in between. However, as her sister virtually skipped to the large anteroom of the manor, she could not help but down her (nearly full) glass of the decades old beverage. The sour taste and burning sensation along her throat was moot to the inconvenience that awaited.

Gracefully, the eldest dragged herself up and followed the jittery ginger. When she came up on the entrance, she noticed that the door was ajar.

_They're probably already grinding against each other with their tongues dancing._

The itching manifested, dragging its claws down her pharynx and spine. Bile built in her mouth and she swallowed as she came up to the reprehensible couple. Anna stood in front of the date, jumping on the balls of her feet—a nervous tick—grinning from ear to ear, the youngest spoke adamantly to the boy before. A faux smile lit Elsa's features as she greeted.

"Hello, Hans."

Dark green eyes pried themselves away from the bubbly teen and gazed into icy blue orbs. The (presumably) one-sided tension ate away at Elsa and it ten folded when the male extended his hand to her. Straightening her spine and squaring her shoulders, she rigidly and hesitantly grasped the proffered palm, trying not to scowl when she felt a surprisingly soft pad.

_Anna's going to eat this up._

It was hard to contain a frown when the implications entered the blonde's mind.

_Keep calm, smile, approve, look regal, and don't accidentally break his wrist._

"Hi, Elsa. Always a pleasure," Hans said, continuing to didder the pale hand. Was it her, or did his shake seem rigid too? Or did the elder compensate for both? Disregarding those inquiries, she raked her gaze swiftly up and down the male's form and the hidden anger accrued.

_For the love of—he even came presentable! First his perfect teeth, hair and butt, now he's fully dressed to go to the opera or something!_

Her sister's new boy toy wore pressed and crisp clothes, new by the way they were bright and stainless. A pale yellow polo, ironed immaculately so that it showed off his lean, muscular figure, was tucked into tan khakis, with a shiny new Rolex adoring his left wrist. He was the picture perfect man parents wanted for any daughter, and Elsa was sheathing that she (physically) sanctioned him.

_Maybe he eats funny, or picks his nose. He _is_ a man after all. _

Yet something told her that those aforementioned scenarios were unlikely. Inhaling, she replied, "Same to you."

Even by her enhanced ears that statement appeared forced.

But Hans, if he picked up on the blonde's strained voice, did not look daunted. Instead, he dropped the handshake, curled into Anna's side by looping an arm around her waist (the strange effervescent stirred once more), and grinned. "How's college? Still top ten?"

Her response was too quick, "Just top."

He whistled, a breezy, melodic, irritating whistle. "Color me surprised. You were always the bright one."

Laughing, Anna, who patiently witnessed the whole territory marking, playfully punched his arm, "Hey!"

"Well, obviously it's genetic."

"It better be. I get straight A's, for your information."

Hans just laughed, a paradox of a melody and a cacophony. Elsa just forced a grin to carve up her cheeks.

Finally, when Mr. Sideburns' titters languished away, the blonde asked, "So, what's the plan for tonight? Dinner?"

_Obviously, because Anna didn't eat any with me._

He nodded, "That's the plan, and maybe go to a late night showing." Pausing to look into the elucidating teal orbs of Anna, he then whipped his head to the eldest. Quickly he added, "If that's okay, with you, I mean."

She cracked a small smirk, "So long as she will get up in the morning for school." Then a thought occurred, "but try to get her home around eleven, please."

_Hopefully that will curtail any . . . undesirable interactions._

Hans, being the gentleman that he was, agreed by nodding with a equivocate smirk adoring his handsome face. The sensation intensified, nearly making the young woman shudder.

_What the heck. . . _

"You okay, Elsa?" It was her sister. Concern filled her eyes, however the girl in question just waved it off.

"Fine, fine." A dismissing gesture, she added, "College rigors."

Anna still appeared dubious, though it dissipated when her boyfriend sounded, "Well, I'll bring her back by eleven. Come on, let's give her the night to recoup from her day."

_Or more from you._

The couple exited the manor, the cooper haired teen glued to Mr. Sideburns at the hip, heading to his shiny silver Volvo, all the while the bubbling accumulating in Elsa's chest. Pressure built and built. Dots were forming along the werewolf's peripheral, enlarging with each passing second. She witnessed the male glide over to her sister's door and open it, proper and enamoring like. This earned a girly giggle from Anna, who had to bite her lip to stifle the laughter. The eldest watched how she smoothed her skirt down in the back, and then settle into the leather interior of the car.

It was pulsing now, throbbing against her sternum. A grunt of pain escaped the blonde's lips as she leaned onto the large wooden doors of the estate, still viewing how a Cheshire smile crossed her sister's face as she situated herself.

Another throb. Another moan of anguish.

_What is this feeling? It feels like a heart attack or cardiac palpitations. _

_It hurts. It hurts so much. . ._

Wide eyes, encased in fear, pain, and confusion continued to follow Anna's movements. The way her teal orbs flickered with excitement, how her signature pigtails bounced as she implacably spook. They were intoxicating. _She_ was intoxicating.

Then, when Elsa's dark spots further clouded her vision and her heart painfully throbbed in her breast, teal eyes locked onto crystal in the side view mirror. A small palm came into the reflection and fingers sprawled outward, in a tentative wave. The Volvo started to life and soon the couple drove down the gravel, crescent-shaped turnaround, dust kicking up and rear lights disappearing.

Something pierced and erupted inside the blonde's chest. White hot pain belched from the center, exploding in a torturous ailment. She shrieked in anguish and a hand came up to clutch her upper torso. Everything stopped, everything went numb. Breathing, blinking, hearing. All functions seemed to terminate in a matter of seconds.

Her legs gave out in pure fatigue and it sent Elsa to the marble floor. Head spinning, heart thumping erratically within her bosom, pain shooting from every fiber, the last thing she witnessed was the crimson lights retreating down the path and Anna's exhilarated smile in the mirror. The ominous dots merged together and soon her vision was nothing but an inky black abyss.

. . . . .

_She knew the smell as if it still lingered on that day. The odor it left behind was just as potent as when it is fresh. The iron scent, even its tart essence can bombard her senses occasionally if she lets her mind wander—gamble into the dark depths if her psyche. _

_Her fears, her ominous memories of past trials, the plagues of her existence, the predominant regrets. Even so, that one simple, abundant smell is something she absolutely detests. The metallic fragrance that she craves, yet resents all the same. The bitter taste it has when it drops onto her tongue, a wave of intolerably pleasant quinine. _

_She regrets how it sautés the meat she tears into on deplorable nights._

_She regrets how her pupils widen at the stench whenever it is prominent._

_Regrets how it is beautifully tragic in a sense._

_Rueful for when it drips or splatters, it is a near melody to her acute hearing._

_But perhaps the worst is when her mind wanders too far to that faithful, sorrow filled evening, as the undulate of repent near drowns her as she wishes to have discovered it first before young Anna—_

. . . . .

Elsa woke an hour or so later, on the marble stairs of the entrance, body half in the manor and the other in the cool, damp air of March. Blinking away the blots along the corner of her eyes, she rose, head cradled by one hand and chest clenched with its twin. Her breath came in shallow puffs and her knees shook like the conifers in an autumn storm.

With each irregular thump, her heart ached with an unusual fire she never felt before. It was a hallow, itching, and perpetual pine. The hand around her temples then blindly pursued something to grab ahold of. Finally, an object, sturdy and solid, came along her fingertips. The door. Practically flinging herself on it, Elsa attempted to straighten herself on the structure, but her body was still too stricken. As she tried to turn around to the anteroom, to possibly contact help in some way, her knees buckled. She fell again and this time a muffed moan escaped her mouth.

"Help. . ." Was the only whimper that managed to be voiced. Needles bristled down the length of her throat, causing another stab of pain to explode in her breast. Each breath was torture, each gesture made her grovel.

_What's going on? Did someone poison me? Is this an act of sorcery?_

"Someone . . . Please . . ."

Another painful thud of her heart. She screamed bloody murder. Boiling tears pooled along her eye lids, threatening to spill.

"Miss Elsa?"

A voice. A person. _Someone_ heard her.

The blonde wanted to guide them to where she was, on the floor, balled up into herself, but all that came out was another strangled shriek.

"Does someone need a warm hug?" It said, chirpy and lively. Footsteps, there were footsteps traveling to her. They were bouncy and energetic. And they were coming from _inside_ the house. Realization hit her.

"Olaf?"

The footfalls sounded nearer, yet they halted as a high-pitched bellow came from the person, "Miss Elsa!"

That was when the young woman sensed someone standing over her. Her blurry vision managed to focus in on a pair of ashen black colonial shoes, old and worn.

"I got you, Miss. I got you."

A pair is scrawny arms lifted her from the ground by her armpits.

"My . . . Room."

"Yes, of course."

The ascent to the young woman's room was tricky at best. The helper, Olaf, stumbled and fell multiple times with Elsa in his lanky arms. But the tumbles were irrelevant when likened with the palpitations her heart was agonizingly producing. She withered in his grasp with each tussle of her figure made knives prickle just under her skin. The trek up the grand stairs was by far the most wrenching and excruciating, however once that part of the journey was over it was minuscule in comparison. All the while, Olaf was murmuring encouragements under his raspy breath.

"It's going to be okay Miss Elsa, perhaps a nice nap will subside . . . This." Nevertheless, with all of his optimistic views and chatter, there was still the underline worry in his rants.

Besides, he only received screams and grunts as response.

He shifted her weight in his arms to grasp the door knob of the blonde's room. Once a firm grip was on both Elsa and the knob, the aid pushed into the threshold. After some shifting and mild screams of agony, Olaf managed to guide the contorting woman to the bed, who once more let loose a shriek.

"Miss Elsa, please tell me what's wrong!"

All the boy got was another shrill. Another stab in her heart. She withered into the plush comforter, now with sweltering tears rolls down her ivory cheeks. Even the droplets seemed to scorch her skin as she continued to shrivel.

Yet soon, her body, whether it was out of fatigue or utter shock, began to marginally come down from the unknown torture. Her breathing became regular and full and, though they stained her face, the tears became barren. Before Olaf could sound his worry, crystal eyes fluttered shut.

. . . . .

The lot that Arendelle manor laid on was quite large, over 15 acres of land, not including the woodland around it. It held many natural aesthetics such as fine-spun meadows, foreboding timbers, exhorting streams, and, regarding but not limited to, grand lakes. So, it was innate for people to be drawn to the serene atmosphere; women, men, and children alike, everyone devoured the tranquil realm.

In its glory, the manor hosted a large quantity of community get-togethers from simple picnics and cook outs in the summer and spring months to festivals and snow ridden games in the colder, later seasons. During the infancy of the town, the patriarch or matriarch of the Arendelle clan would welcome every citizen to exploit the beauty of the land and make memories within the iron gates. It presently became tradition.

Even still, all good things must come to an end. It was the last year of the festival for the events that transpired discouraged any other fête afterwards.

The middle of winter was just as beautiful as any other seasons during the year. The white crystals fell gracefully to the ground, covering in a thick fluffy blanket of snow. Mountains rolled in the flurries and bathed in the white flakes. It was perfect for peaceful excursions for adventurers, thrill seekers, and even naïve boys barely the age of thirteen. Somehow, they managed to slip away from the crowd of townsfolk, scale the fence, and race to the frozen lake. However, during the duration of their little escapade, the ice beneath the youngest brother's feet gave way and the current of a nearby stream swept him away.

The eldest, by only minutes, returned, blue and drenched. Alone.

The gatherings ended then and there. Now, the celebrations were just a reminder of the unfathomable loss of the one of the Arendelle family.

"Was the ice checked before the festivities?"

"Of course, the parents are very cautious."

Another entered the conversation, "No it was—"

"Maybe some dreary occurrence. Maybe someone was ice fishing earlier that 'marrow and forgot to mark off the place."

"—someone was there, please is anyone listening—"

"Poor lad, had a good life ahead of him too, him and his brother. Bright boys by the gossip."

"—hello? Please anyone, why can't anyone hear me?"

"How's the eldest doing . . . Marshall, is it?"

"Mourning, locked up in his room, like any brother would be. Poor, Marshall. Most likely weeping."

"—no he's not, well he _was_, but he saw me and he smiled! He's not sad anymore—"

"They were so close, too. Twins?"

"Yes."

"Must have been real close."

"—no we _are_ close. 'Are' present tense!—"

"Such a tragedy . . ."

"—what tragedy? Why isn't anyone listening!?"

"May, Olaf be at peace . . ."

"—Anyone, please! What's going on? Why are Mother and Father crying? Why are so many people crying? Is this all about me? I'm here! Please . . . Marshall can see me . . . I just talked to him. Anyone? I'm here . . . why can't you see me?"

It was not until, he attended the funeral, _his_ funeral, that he realized what was going on. A rather impressive grave stone stood before him, marking the end of his life and the being of his _after_life. He did not cry, not like his parents and brother. He did not try to disturb the reticent air around the gravesite, for he knew not many people could hear or see him. He only looked upon the ominous headstone, reciting and rereading the words chiseled across the smooth surface.

_Here lays Olaf Arendelle, not in physicality but in spirit._

_He once told that hugs were warm, yet now no one can feel the warmth of his anymore._

_A beloved son, friend, and brother._

_November 27th, 1888 to December 4th, 1901 _

Throughout the years, the young boy stayed in limbo, watching, and waiting until he moved on, and maybe occasionally chat with a fellow confide or even a family member who wanted to converse with him. He watched, out-of-the-way and invisible, as the generations passed by, as his family died, grew, and split. His brother, Marshall, married, had a child, and when Father Time permitted, died with his remaining family at his side—including the illusive twin.

But, Olaf's beloved brother never entered the world of oblivion.

Alone and confined to the Manor, the young boy eventually was just a distant memory of the townsfolk and a constant reminder to the Arendelle family that, even though they come from a mighty bloodline and superior to the humans in the town, they were still subjected to naïvety and whimsy.

So, being a constant in the estate, it was no wonder that it was _Olaf_ that found Miss Elsa sprawled out on the polished floor, wailing in pure anguish. He did what was necessary, though with some dubious questions in his young mind, he picked her up with his translucent arms—making sure to materialize his body—and shuffled up to the woman's room. It was difficult due to the staggering height and weight difference, but with all that, the boy managed to plop her down onto the bed.

She withered in pain; beads of sweat sprinkled along her brow, and tears—rare in any sense—carved their way down her pale cheeks. And still, all Olaf could do was look on in horror as his great, great, great-niece moaned, cried, and twitched.

His large overbite seized his bottom lip in worry as he ran his hands through his dark, stringy hair, frantically pacing the room with nothing to contribute. Finally, he shouted, "Miss Elsa, please tell me what's wrong!"

All he received was a hair-raising, primal shrill. Then, slowly the cries languished away into pants, and they too shriveled away into the steady breathing of unconsciousness, exhausted from the torture, her body gave out in shock.

"Miss . . . Miss Elsa?" Olaf squeaked out, hoarse. Taking tentative steps toward the blonde, a see-through hand waved timidly in front of her face. No response.

Gulping, he backed away, old clogs—if tangible—scuffed the wood, and began pacing the room.

_Was Miss Elsa envenomed? Cursed more so than before? And what of Miss Anna! She certainly must have—_

_No_, Olaf thought dismissing the thought with a shake of a head, _I remember her saying something about a courtship with a young man that evening. Isn't it now a custom for couples to dine with one another during one of their excursions?_

He did not know, for time slips by a spirit like water in a palm. Years turn to seconds, and seconds are actually decades. Before he knows it Elsa and her dear sister Anna will be wedded and perishing before his lucid eyes, like his brother and his descendants.

Feet halted, hands fiddled their way back to the boy's sides, and he shook his head. It did not matter; all that mattered was Miss Elsa, the bedridden woman on the opposite side of the room, and her current ailment. Poison is a likely culprit, but that did not excuse the likelihood of a paranormal infliction. Olaf knew all too well of the influence of the Arendelle family in the Underworld of monsters and beings of acquaintance. Intertwined socially, economically, and politically, the clan was long-familiar throughout the lands, if be it human wise or its counterpart. Olaf shuddered as the images of assassins and back alleyway deals came to his nonexistent mind.

_No_, he argued with himself,_ I would have known_.

Being the soul of the household, he recognized every person that came in through the door or otherwise. With that in mind, charcoal eyes flicked over to the window pane, where the intricate swirls and shapes reside on the century old wood. A mischievous smile made its way on his pale face, despite the situation at hand. He needed something to entertain himself with, if came as the winter demon's price. Decades of limbo can help one manipulate mystical beings—or plants—if done right.

A groan to the spirit's left tore him away from his musings, and immediately his sprinted to Miss Elsa's side.

"Miss Elsa! Are you alright?" He said in hurry. He watched her twitch, side to side, then signature crystal blue eyes fluttered open, dazed and confused.

"Olaf . . ." The way the word tilted up at the end made it seem more like a question, but the young boy did not seem to notice.

Standing by the bed, he asked, "Are you well, now? Do you know what happened?"

A weak smile stretched across the young woman's visage. "Yes, I am."

He waited for the other answer that was to accompany the first, yet it never came. Withal, the two settled into a tense silence, with Olaf stared intently and Elsa focusing her gaze on the pane with the fresh engravings from that evening. Her face was indecipherable at best; brow screwed slightly together, lips pressed into a thin line. The boy wondered if she was thinking or if her mind was still scrambled from the infliction previously.

Her breath was still haggard, coming in short inhales and exhales, and remnants of perspiration trickled down her temple. Even so, she did not seem fazed by her exhausted condition. Which, Olaf guessed, was a grand thing because the woman's usual grace and elegance was lost in the earlier escapade; wonted tight, flawless bun askew and disheveled with fly aways, clothing wrinkled and outlined in sweat in key areas. This was not the Miss Elsa the spirit knew. Especially, the woman, whose eyes glinted with disarray, then discernment, and ultimately _fear_.

And fear was something Olaf solemnly saw nowadays. This seemed to replete his memory of how it looked like. It was all in the eyes, he realized after a few more moments of silence.

Then, abruptly Elsa casted her legs over the bedside and stood, wobbly and disoriented. Her hand flung to her forehead as its sibling balanced her body with the support of the post. Olaf shuffled to the girl, eager to please the matriarch, but she waved him away.

"It's fine," she attempted, however her voice was husky and infirm, most likely from the wailing beforehand.

Even still, Olaf, with years of experience materialized his body and grabbed her bicep. He tried to reason, "I protest, Miss Elsa, you need rest from . . . whatever that was."

She peeked through her fingers and then settled her hand by her side, she replied, "Olaf, I'm happy that you want to help but I'm telling you: I'm fine. It won't happen again."

"How can you be so ascertained?" Rare defiance filled his voice, disregarding his respectable teachings from his mother.

Elsa gave a sad smile. "I just know."

With that, she attempted to walk across the room, the young boy still by her side, clinging to her arm. They made it halfway to the door when an all too familiar ringtone sounded from Elsa's desk.

_I'm insane, I am smart_

_All it takes, is a spark, to ignite my bad intentions_

_And do what I do best to your heart_

Sighing, the blonde made her way to her phone (Olaf cohering to her elbow). She gave him a meaningful glance before picking up.

"Hi, Belle I—"

She stilled. The hysterical sounds of cries, sniffles, and panting filled her ears, feminine by how high they were.

"Belle, what's wrong?"

All she got was a sob. Fear, greater than before she called, raced through her body. Belle never cries, let alone breaks down over the phone.

"Belle, are you still there? I need you to speak to me. I need to know what's going on." Elsa's voice unintentionally turned to stone, hard and uncaring. One of them had to keep a level head; one of them had to be in control.

There were more sobs, some banging around, and shifting as the blonde waited, desperately. There were a few sayings in French but they were too quiet and muffled for Elsa to translate. Then finally, the sounds subsided with only hiccups occasionally bubbling up. Elsa tried once more, voice giving way to the whirlwind of emotions inside her, "Belle . . ."

With all abandon, her friend cried out, "Adam's been shot!"

**((((0))))**

**I have no words to describe how _evil_ I feel right now. I'm just going to leave this little chapter here in hopes that some may continue reading and (most importantly) review.**

**In all, I am pleased with this installment, hints why the sudden cliffhanger placed so diligently at the end. Oh, what I have in store for you guys . . . **

**Thanks. Keep READING and REVIEWING, my pets. **


	5. Chapter 5

**The Coldest Moon**

**Sorry for the late update; school, life, people got in the way. Thankfully, one of those is disposable. **

**Seems like the last chapter stirred quite a few people's emotions. You're welcome.**

**Now let's see if you guys had the correct assumptions . . .**

**If you see any spelling or grammar mistakes, please tell me, I will fix them.**

**((((0))))**

**Chapter Five: _And You're to Blame_ **

Elsa's nails dug into the leather steering wheel as she flew through the windy, deserted road from the manor. The speed limit on said route was about thirty. But, disregarding logic and the law, for emotions scorched through her veins and desperation perspired from her pores, the blonde humbly neared triple the stated regulation.

Her head spun. Mind just a cacophony of thoughts, memories, and primeval feelings.

She executed another sharp turn, making the Bentley grind its gears and screech from the extreme misusage of the vehicle. Trees whipped across the windows, dark blurs and streaks flew by and mingled with the colorless sky and ground. The only thing in focus was the asphalt road which crystal eyes were intently trained on.

Her nails stabbed more into the suede as retention plagued the normally clear, dianoetic psyche. The pain . . . the utter malfunction of her senses . . . nothing was comparable. Not a single, absolute thing could equate to the white-hot anguish or the constant piercing just around her heart. At first, through the languished sensation coursing across her body, Elsa was dumbfounded. Yet, now since Belle's cries of explanation happened and the clutter of physical torture subsided, she recognized what transpired.

_That's what I was experiencing. I was reacting to Adam's shot._

She remembered her father vaguely stating one time, when the notion of their condition came up in conversation, that members of the pack were connected, not only mentally yet also physically. If stimuli were within conditions, that is. Only maltreatments on the extreme side of things permitted such a link to fester. Which leads to the other question . . . what caused the nexus to reach out to Elsa?

The clutch on the wheel tightened. Her heart pounded erratically. She knew the answer, but the reality of such knowledge rattled her to the core.

_Silver_.

Without another thought, the blonde snatched her phone from her pocket and, with rigid jabs on the touch screen, called the person that came to mind. Three rings later, a lax sounding Jack answered, "Hey, Snowflake. What're—"

"Adam's been shot." Curt, to the point, emotionless, if not, angry tears may slip.

"What do you mean 'Adam's been shot', how could that happen?—" His words were cut off as he silenced himself. Elsa knew the same thought occurred to the ice demon as it did to her moments earlier.

But there was no time to waste by the pure notion of it all, so the woman snapped back in, "Are you in town?"

"Five minutes from the apartment." There was no cheerfulness in Jack's answer, it was only as frigid as the snow he forms from his fingertips.

Her voice was harsh, from the pure rage coursing through her body or the turmoil of other emotions building inside of her, she did not know. "Make it two."

With that, the blonde hurled the phone over in the passenger seat, effectively hanging up. Her digits curled more around the wheel, making another sharp, death-defying turn, and pushed the pedal down fully to the floor. Speed limit be damned. The engine purred, opposite to the woman's low growl that escaped from her throat, and the vehicle launched forward. The needle on her dashboard climbed higher up the numbers. Glancing down momentarily, it read 132.

Soon, the whiplash of trees and night deforested into sacks, houses and buildings, and Elsa lifted her foot from the gas, slowing the Bentley down to the posted limit. Getting a ticket will not help Adam and she did not have a compiled excuse ready at hand. 'Oh, yeah, just quadrupling the speed regulation because my friend, who happens to be a werewolf, was shot with silver and quite possibly dying. So could you please let me off with a warning?' did not really bode well.

She felt her car lag through the main street of the town as she innately navigated to the apartment. Normally, it took about twenty minutes for Elsa to travel from the manor to the couple's place (_if there's still a couple left_), yet since her radical NASCAR racing, it only took maybe eight minutes—if that.

With ease, she parked the car, and extracted her nails from the wheel. They seemed to slice right through to the metal.

_Good luck explaining that to Kai_, the blonde thought caustically, _along with the ground gears and the smashed cell. _

Flexing her digits, her leg was out of the door when she stopped herself, abruptly. She rotated around in her seat, eyes plastered on the archaic buildings above and along the alleyways of the streets. Even with her heightened sight, the buildings still obstructed her view of their roofs. Though she was in a forum-like parking lot, with three walls enclosing her in and efficaciously concealing the woman, she still could not risk it. In a straightaway decision, Elsa bent over the middle console and snatched up a disregarded hoodie Anna had forsaken ages ago. As she pulled on the jacket, the blonde could not help but notice that it still had her scent. Fruits, lotion, the dabs of the ginger's lavender perfume. Elsa shook her head.

_Now's not the time to dwell on that. Adam is your only priority right now_.

Sighing, Elsa flipped the hood onto the crown of her head, made sure her platinum bun was hidden inside, zipped it up, and exited the car in a controlled frenzy.

Muscle memory guided her through the tiny apartment building; enter the door, pass the desk, up the stairs, second floor, turn right, three doors down, then hit 2C. Her own hastened footfalls echoed through the empty corridor as she did just as her body told her too—it was not like her brain was functional at the moment, anyways. Said mind was incoherent with emotions tumbling about, raking her mind with unneeded scenarios. She was too late. He's dead. A pack mate has died. The blood is most likely everywhere. Just like her parents. The blood. The silver.

She bit her lip as she raced to the door that marked her desired destination. And without thinking, flung the door open and stepped into the threshold.

Nevertheless, the blonde has been to the apartment countless times, sometimes to study with Belle for their Mythology class or to hang out with the couple, maybe with some liquid incentive and the hopes of social interaction. The place itself was not that grand; three rooms, including the living room and the two bedrooms, and with those a bathroom with a fickle showerhead and toilet. The décor was that of what college students could afford, which only included cheap window drapes, a recliner from a garage sale from three years ago, and a few pieces from Elsa who _insisted_ that the hand carved coffee table did not go with the rest of the manor and the TV was _not_ a big deal.

However, as she stood in the doorway, Elsa saw everything as foreign. Nothing was familiar. Not the dingy white wall paper slowly deteriorating off, the lumpy beanbag in the corner, the ancient stove or appliances in the small kitchen, even the red tinged, brown irises of the brunette sitting on the old faux-leather couch. Said woman's head whipped toward the familiar intruder, and she continued to gaze upon Elsa with new tears forming on the brim of her eyes. A sob is what jabbed the blonde from her numbness.

Tentative steps sounded like gun shots as Elsa approached Belle, who did not move from her half curled position on the couch. When the blonde sat, she did not look to the other girl, only staring at the mangled person in the television's dark screen. The grey hoodie was wrinkled from its abandonment in the Bentley, the head cover somehow got skewed during her trek up the stairs, revealing fly-away hairs from her normally neat bun and the gloomy circles under her eyelids. When her intentional dissatisfaction passed by her appearance, she turned her gaze to the brunette adjacent to her, who seemed to be in similar dishevelment. Brown tresses were tangled and sticking out in various ways, most likely from fingers constantly trekking and pulling at it. Her light tan was pasty and her cheeks were tinged pink. The blonde suppressed an intake of breath when she could still see and smell the blood along Belle's palms and fingers, which, she might add were clutching their counterpart's elbows.

They sat in silence. Neither one of them trusted their voices at the moment. Besides, what were they going say?

'_Hi, how're you doing_?'

'_Not so well, my boyfriend's been shot_.'

'_Sorry, my condolences_.'

Elsa scoffed. She was horrid at normal functions like going to clubs and bars, which she has perfected circumventing with impeccable excuses. But, this? How could she even operate efficiently without stumbling, or worse, burst with anger or tears or even the combination of the two. She could barely step out of the manor without the persuasion of school or friends, so empathizing and comforting was completely out of her element.

Even still, she had to say _something_.

Gulping back a strangled whimper (_damn emotions_), she tilted her head to Belle, "Is Jack—"

"Yes." It was barely a whisper, but it was an answer. The blonde just nodded and turned back to the blank television.

It was then, when the initial numbness subsided, she heard the rummaging of the man in question in the room down the hall. Something was ripped, someone was muttering curses under his breath, and faintly, the haggard breathing of another. Elsa squeezed her eyes shut.

_He's still alive. Jack got here in time._

Opening her eyes, she caught sight of deep brown ones staring blankly at her. Once more, the blonde whirled completely to the other, eyes just as void and expressionless.

Belle's voice was raspy when she finally uttered, "_Vous avez l'air comme de la merde." You look like shit._

Elsa could not help but chuckle. What else was there to do? She cannot comfort her friend in her time of need. She cannot do half the things Jack is doing now without getting in the way. Though she did have extensive knowledge of the human body and how to extract silver from it, it was not something you can practice. For once, Elsa was glad that immature, childish, and irritating ice demon befriended her family and has medical know-how.

The blonde replied, through a strained voice, "_Tout aussi merdique comme vous_." _Just as shitty as you._

Something twinkled in Belle's eyes, yet it was not something positive. The brunette switched back to English, although it was gritty and laced with a thick accent. "Well then . . . I have my reasons, but what're yours?"

Memories of the previous hours flashed across Elsa's mind and she grimaced. The other girl just raised an eyebrow, prodding, "Well?"

"Just . . . as worried as you are, honest."

Nevertheless, Belle just shook her head, "Your eyes and posture say otherwise."

Relenting, the other woman sighed, ducking her head. Belle could always read her like a book, and she knew there was no way to avoid her penetrating gaze and persistent nudging. At first, Elsa was a bit annoyed by the brunette's pestiferous inquiry, however, as she took a step back and lifted her gaze back up to tincted coffee eyes staring back at her, she understood. She was a distraction. Belle wanted to forgo her present troubles. She was not the one to dwell and wallow in emotional affairs for too long. Besides, there was nothing Belle could do, much like the blonde; all she wanted was misdirection from her current ailment.

And being a good friend—one with unoccupied hands, at that—Elsa was happy to comply.

She forced the words out, burning her throat as she spoke, "I . . . I imprinted." The syllables sounded coarse even by Elsa's enhanced ears.

Belle, through her most dismal moment, smiled half-heartedly. Though she meant well, Elsa still flinched as the brunette said, "That's great . . . who's the lucky guy?"

The other girl turned back to the blank television, promptly avoiding the question. The air condition could be heard, the harsh breathing of poor Adam filtered through, the gentle exhales and inhales of Belle beside her, and . . . the wind?

Elsa's head snapped to the left and settled her eyes beyond the brunette adjacent to her. The old curtains swayed ever so slightly, to and fro. Back and forth in just a segment of millimeters, but it was still swishing. Her gaze flitted down to the windowsill and found it closed and locked. Then crystal irises darted up to the top glass.

She sprung up and charged over to the glass.

There on the top glass, revealed by a sliver of open sky by the curtains, was a bullet hole. Hairline fractures raked along the surface in jagged lines and fractals. In the center, a circular opening, no bigger than an inch in diameter. Elsa extended her index finger to the hole and traced half of it. Her brows furrowed and her gaze went sideways to the curtains. The two cloths were no more than a foot apart and the bullet hole was exactly in the middle of them.

Shifting upwards, the blonde's gaze settled on the building across the small apartment complex. It was an old family owned pizza joint and popular hangout area for peers of Elsa and her sister. Even still, it was rather tall for a restaurant, with a great vantage point of the surrounding buildings. Including the couple's place.

Then, something shifted oh so slightly on top of the pizza place.

A snarl escaped Elsa's lips.

"Elsa," Belle started, somewhere behind the female werewolf. "What are you looking at—hey! Where're you going?"

By the time the other girl could comprehend that she was being called for, Elsa had already stormed out the apartment and sprinted to the stairs. Only this time, she went up instead of down. Pure rage coursed through her as she stomped up the steps to the roof. All the while, a deep scowl marred her beautiful face. Her finger tips found the edge of the hood and she readjusted it upon her head as the exit to the roof materialized in front of her. The blonde barely processed that she barged onto the housetop and trekked over to the edge of the building until the night's cold bite nipped at her cheeks and nose, and even still the scorching of fury kept her warm. Baring her teeth, she glowered at the building across the street.

Beyond the stillness of the nightfall, the inky blackness of it all, excluding the street lights flickering below, was what made her blood boil.

There, ever so slightly breathing, making their chest rise and fall for dear necessity, was the damnable Hunter.

_He's still here!_

Elsa's eyes sharpened and her vision pulled the Hunter more into view. Though it was too dark, even with the enhanced sight, to tell the actual identity of the attempted murderer, the silhouette of the person was definitely male in structure, by the well-built chest and shoulders. He was kneeling near the edge of the crossway complex, observing the mess he had made.

_He's making sure that Adam's dead before he leaves._

If it was not for the raw emotion flowing through the woman's veins, she may be fearful of such a presence before her. It was practically suicidal. However, rationale was thrown out the window when the bullet tore through Adam's chest. This was only practical in means of survival, instinct, and, most importantly, revenge.

Her face contorted into one of a madwoman, brows creased inwards, lips pulled down into an ugly lour, eyes acute with a vindictive glint, nostrils flaring in animalistic ids. The regal girl hours before evanesced, gone was the relaxed face of a tamed human. Now, stood the wolf of the previous night, on the berm of releasing her intractable side she vowed never to expose, besides what was mandatory on those deplorable evenings. Eyes deadly. Fingers flexing. Body rigid.

Every move of the man was traced by crystal orbs. Every flex of muscle. Intake of breath. Elsa was watching. And he knew it too.

She could not see much, yet the Hunter moved marginally to the right and she witnessed the whites of his eyes shift also. Like two lions circling one another, both glared at each other, ferreting every motion the opposite makes.

Hitherto, that did not mean she did not see the resting rifle by his side either. She could still smell the gunpowder in the air. Her stomach curled and twisted.

With that, Elsa stepped closer to the brink of the complex, placed her foot on the elevated brim, straightened her back, threw her head back, and howled.

There are many different sounds wolves could make—growls, whimpers, barks. All act as a system of communication. But perhaps the howl was the most equivocate of the whole. One could mean the need to locate a member of the pack. Another, rare but still prevalent, could entail the mourning of said pack member—but not today.

Today, this howl, clarion and ariose, was not one of the latters. No, this was threatening, foreboding. Elsa was claiming that Adam, Belle, Jack, and the surrounding areas that she laid a foot on is _her_ territory.

And presently, this Hunter was trespassing.

_I know what your kind does for a living first hand, and I know how you operate, in the shadows. Yet, now you've messed with the wrong creature. And this one is already familiar with darkness. _

With the ultimatum aside, she stepped down from her pedestal. The blonde backed away, still facing the Hunter, until she came onto the roof door. With one last ire-filled glare, Elsa slinked back into the complex. But not before she also saw the Hunter recoil back into the night like her.

. . . . .

She had to wait another thirty minutes with a stupefied Belle and a pregnant silence until a somber looking Jack appeared. Muffled words floated through. Both woman held a bated breath as the demon voiced words like 'silver', 'blood', 'muscle', 'heart', and ultimately what they direly coveted to hear 'live'.

Belle fell to the floor. Elsa bowed her head into her shaking hands. Jack just dallied with his hands.

No, he was not playing, he was wiping them off. When she finally withdrew her face from her hands, the blonde glanced down at the pale boy's palms, stained with a dark liquid. A thin rag, already soaked, was wrung through Jack's digits, over his knuckles, and under his finger nails. Elsa felt sick.

A pressure on her shoulder jarred the blonde. She lifted her gaze to similar, tired icy blue eyes. Though she wanted to smile, to give assurance in any way possible, nothing happened. She was too exhausted to even flinch when Jack sounded.

"How about to go home. You seem to need the rest."

_I don't think home is where I need to be now._

A dubious glint flicked in Jack's eyes. "What was that?"

Realizing she must have vocalized her thoughts, Elsa just sighed and consented, "The manor is not a good place to go right now."

If possible the curiosity increased within cerulean orbs. "How so?"

Elsa's voice was gravelly, whether from the howling or the pure emotion burden upon her, she did not know. "Complicated."

"It's okay. I couldn't pry anything from her either." A new, yet familiar voice contributed. The two blondes turned to the bedroom turned ER and saw Belle, clinging to Adam's side and clutching his limp hand. The apartment was fairly small, so it was no surprise that she could hear anything that passed between the walls.

The brunette pried her eyes away from her bedridden boyfriend to the duo and gave a forced smile. "Let her burden us with her drama another day. I think we're a little preoccupied now."

With that sentiment, she went back to leering at her wounded beast.

Reluctantly, Jack nodded and turned back to Elsa. Only her spot was vacant. He then whirled to the sound of the door clicking open. His shoulders sagged at her dejected stance. "I thought you didn't need to go home."

"That's true . . . but, the manor is also where I _want_ to be." He did not seem to catch how her hand clutched around the doorframe. Or the fact that she actually was not talking to him.

Raising a brow, Jack expressed, "I don't understa—"

"I'll fill you in, in due time."

Along with a disconcerting smile accompanying flurried eyes, Elsa left.

. . . . .

Ivar and Kirstin Arendelle wanted everything for their daughters. The best clothes, education, morals, friends, and even futures that were better than their own. When one of their children waddled up to them and asked for a new toy, they would laugh and say 'okay, but not without you giving one of your old ones to the shelter'. Elsa and Anna would then humbly comply. When one of the girls would scrap their knees (hands down the culprit would be Anna's clumsy predisposition), the wife and husband would kiss the wound, ruffle their hair, and reassure them that the injury would heal with time.

They had soft eyes, Elsa remembered, but firm voices. What they said would be taken to heart by anyone, even the enemies they accumulated through their political influences among the Underworld affairs. Thus, it was only an assumption that Elsa, the rightful heir to the Arendelle determinant and generation curse, would too be raised in such a way as her predecessors were.

"Don't slump."

"Don't snort."

"Don't question a succubus's deviations."

"And—dear God! Don't eat too much chocolate!"

The elder of the sisters always seemed to have the most burthens, which, some may agree, is totally appropriate, considering Anna's . . . condition.

Unlike Elsa, the youngest was fortuitously not a werewolf. It was a very recessive gene in all Underworlders that an offspring cannot have any afflictions pertaining to the paranormal realm. And so it happens to be, the second daughter of the Arendelle clan, the most prestigious and lime-lighted werewolf family in North America, happened to be . . . _defective_. There was no name for the type of condition Anna possesses, unbeknownst to her. Some call them 'mar', 'useless', 'defects', or even 'squibs'. The eldest just calls them 'lucky'.

No one really knows how it happens. Elsa was sure that some science-y werewolves were doing experiments and proposing hypotheses, trying to explain why and how the gene transgresses. Yet, the blonde could not care less about all those aspects. All she cares was that Anna could not learn of her ancestors' curse, and hence blonde's own. It was her father's and mother's final wish. And Elsa will be damned if she broke it.

Of course the request came with exceptions.

_'__If the circumstance, preferably of paranormal origins and regards to, that you, Elsa, must trust Anna with our family's secret, then you shall do so.' _

She was fifteen when her father told her that. The words never faltered as time passed, as was the promise she made him that day.

Even still, this circumstance seems a bit small to what her father was most likely meant back then. It was just a small bump in the road. Nothing to fret over. Or, at least that is what she keeps telling herself, in almost a chant like manner.

The drive to the estate was probably the most excruciating thing south of the festered link hours ago. However, also the most exhilarating. Her papa and mama reded her about shady people who wish to do harm, the dangers of 'paranormal politics' (or so her father called it), even about mundane things such as illegal substances. Yes, her parents warned her about the drugs on the street, but not the one with freckles, a smile, teal eyes, and a heartbeat.

Frivolously opening the door, the blonde entered and set goals for her room, only she couldn't get up the stairs fast enough.

"Elsa?"

The woman in question stilled, body half way up the grand staircase. She did not even turn when Anna continued.

"I've been worried sick. Where were you?"

Out of the corner of her eye, Elsa saw her sister adoring her fluffy robe, matching bunny slippers, and pinstriped pajama bottoms. Her hair was loose from her signature pigtails, crimson flowing freely down her shoulder blades and whisking around her face. It took all the other's might not to directly stare.

_Jesus, even when she's not trying, she is still the most beautiful person ever to walk the face of the earth._

_Wait, what? _

"Elsa?" Concern and a foot fall closer to her. The ginger stepped nearer to the pale woman.

"What?" Her voice sounded her exhaustion and desperation. Elsa knew Anna heard it too.

"It's nearly two in the morning," she prodded, tactfully. "I got home at eleven like you asked and came up to an empty house. Why is that?" If possible, she almost seemed hurt.

Gulping, Elsa replied quickly, back still facing her sister, "Just out."

"Out?" She stepped closer as the blonde moved further up the stairs. Nonetheless, Anna kept her distance afterwards.

"Yeah," she answered, harshly. "You know, having a life."

She heard Anna's breath hitch. Damn heightened hearing. Elsa wanted to apologize, _so desperately apologize_, but she recognized how this was going down if she was passive. Anna would interrogate her and she would eventually crack under that warm cyan gaze. That is not something she could afford, not if she could sort all of this out with a night's curative rest. She had a promise to uphold, after all.

"That's not what I meant Elsa, and you know it." Anna's voice was hard, defensive. Rightfully so. She continued, "I just wanted to see if you're all right. Seeing that you normally don't do this—especially on a school night."

_She knows you too well. Abort, abort!_

"Anna . . ." Elsa started, turning to her sister—her sweet, childish, innocent sister, with impossibly toned legs and—

_Stop! You perverted fool! She's your sister. If it wasn't for that stupid imprinting, you wouldn't be like this._

_. . . Or would I?_

It's a heavy debate among the Lycan society on the premise of imprinting. You see, every incident falls into two categories: predilection or not. In her parents' case, they were complete strangers when they imprinted on one another. Nevertheless, in Adam's circumstance he knew his paramour before the initial occurrence. So it leads to question whether or not you develop feelings for the other under command of the concomitant or you have already recrudesced them and _then_ the feelings intensify to that point. Was Elsa inclined to have these thoughts because of the imprint orders? Or did the embossment happen for she was already building these grotesque emotions, these horrid contrives? Ugh, it is like the chicken and the egg fiasco.

Shaking her head and pulling down the hood, she resumed, "I'm exhausted and really it's no big deal—"

"No big deal?" Anna narrowed her eyes and climbed a few steps, arms crossed over her stomach. The blonde needed the banister to stop her from faltering under the scrutiny. She could see Anna's eyes flicker with anger. "You act all indifferent during dinner, then when Hans comes to pick me up, you looked irritated and annoyed, not to mention the hurt look in your eyes when we left. I _saw_ it all Elsa. So please tell me why it's not a 'big deal'."

She was not yelling, yet her voice rose marginally. The blonde had a feeling she would accept it more if she really was screaming.

_You deserve it, anyways. _

"I'm just . . ." the older sibling trailed off, unsure what to say exactly.

"You're just what, huh? You're going back to your earlier ways, shutting me out again—"

"—No, I—"

"Or is there something I need to know?!" Now, Anna was yelling. Elsa concluded she could not take angry Anna either way.

The blonde let loose a breath, lifted her head, gazed straight into her sister's eyes, and voiced her resolve. Her tone was uncharacteristically hard toward her sibling. "There is nothing you need to know. In fact, this is something you only _want_ to know about. So, either way there is nothing further to say."

With that stomach curling, gag inducing statement, Elsa turned and sprinted up the rest of the stairs. Once she reached her room, she locked the door, knowing all too well Anna's persistent nature and firestorm ways. She slid down the wood and landed hard on her bum, curling up into a ball, drawing her legs up and hugging them.

_It's for the best. To keep her safe. From me and my world._

She has done that for eighteen years. That was the only thing that she was a maestro at, protecting Anna, even if it was from herself. She was her self-acclaimed guardian, among being her friend, sister, and only family. She would do anything for the redhead—comfort her, hug her, and if possible love her more than any sister should. Yet, Elsa knew her own fortune and that latter suasion was unfathomable. Impossible.

She would be a _friend_, if Anna wants it.

A _sibling_, even when Anna denies it.

A _guardian_ for the dangers of the world, when she needs it.

Even her _lover_, but Elsa knew that _that _desire was squandered when the other was born.

And, if it means to ward off the darkness of both the human world and Elsa's reticent one, the eldest would be a _stranger_.

**((((0))))**

**Well, that took an unexpected, angst-y turn. But anyways, how did you like it? Good, bad, amazing, dreadful? Did you see the Harry Potter reference? *snicker, snicker* I couldn't resist** **putting that in there. I am ultimately pleased with this installment, longer that I thought, but still pleased. Hopefully, to you too.**

**Anyways, thank you for reading. And now you know why Anna isn't a werewolf like Elsa, and you know that Elsa had, in fact, imprinted on her sister. And Adam's alive! And there's a Hunter in the town! Yeah! Complications and drama!**

**So, besides that, thank you for reading. Please review. Please spread the word. Together we can rule the world, my pets! Mawhahaha! **

**Keep READING, Keep REVIEWING. **


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